End Tables
by RJ Lewis the III
Summary: An author doesn't necessarily understand the meaning of their own story better than anyone else. We all have stories. E/OC -DISCONTINUED-


**Been awhile, but I figured I should do something with my time. I don't own anything, nor would I ever dare to steal from the wonderful Mr. Nolan. Enjoy and whatnot - RJ Lewis**

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_When you're drowning, you don't say, "I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me," you just scream._

John Lennon

In dreams, pain is everything. Pain sharpens reality, breaks you – restrains you. While death will set you free, pain will hold you captive. What pain in the real world would kill you, would only keep you only more alive in a dream. With no escape to such pain, dreams become nightmares and you find yourself begging for the death that will lead you to freedom.

People never understand that dreams are never just dreams. Dreams are formed in our subconscious, filled and pieced together with remnants of thoughts and hopes or ideas from the previous day. Dreams are influenced by the outside world, by the things we see, the books we read, the movies we watch. Dreams are never original, or without an outside influence. There is always something from the real world which will leak its way into a night's dream. There is never a dream that was ever unintended. We all have stories to tell.

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Here one moment, gone the next. In dreams, no one ever stays. You can hope for them to, can cry and beg or plead, but dreams are never reality. They never stay. So, you wait for them to return. Is this always the best choice – to wait for hours, days, weeks, sometimes even years, for them to return? Of course not. But you do it anyway, because in dreams, they always leave. And if they leave, they can always come back. And so, you wait. And wait. And wait; all with a glimmer of hope in your heart which tells you that yes, they will come back. They don't always come back, but you can still hope for them to.

But as you wait, you start to question. Not just the simple things, like why is the sky truly blue? – more unsettling things. Things that make you start to doubt yourself; start to doubt your own existence in the world. You start to wander the world, alone, questioning everything. You go over the days, over and over again. You mull the details until you know every aspect of the past to the extent of your knowledge. You question everything so much that you start to realize that nothing is what it seems.

You've been lied to – tricked. They lied to you. Nothing is how they said it would be. You're alone. This wasn't the plan. You're alone. Why would they leave you behind? How could they leave you behind? Didn't they notice you weren't there anymore, weren't fleeing the scene with them? Questions, questions, questions! How did they not notice? Was it all a dream? Who are you? Where are you?

But most importantly, _are you real?_

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It is incredibly shocking how quickly things may take a turn for the worst. The amount of time it takes for a moment to turn to horror, the time for mistakes to be made, and most importantly: how quickly a life can be lost. One moment you are standing, watching as the moments turn to seconds and the seconds linger into minutes. You stand, unmoving and unthinking, as you watch the world move around you. In this moment, you are infinite and time has no meaning. In this moment, there is only you.

In this moment, you understand with perfect clarity the questions of the world. You end world hunger and give shelter to every homeless man, woman, and child. World peace floods onto every battle field across nations, allowing millions of soldiers to return to their families. You solve the problems of poverty, discrimination, and rid the world completely of evil and horror. In this single split second of a moment, the world is absolute perfection. All in this single moment.

And then the screams break through the silence and the present comes rushing back. Then, there is nothing besides the mayhem and chaos before you, begging for attention and a solution to the blood being spilled. People, dying all around you. Screams fill the air. Torment and terror, death and destruction. That is what surrounds you.

Suddenly, you realize this isn't a dream. And that there is no solution to the problems you face. No magic cure to the plagues, no miracle that will save anyone – not even you. There is nothing that will save you.

And suddenly, fear is the only thing you feel.

And in these small, spastic moments that seem to slowly overtake your life, you realize that fear really isn't the thing you're truly afraid of. The thing you fear is that feeling you have, that feeling deep inside your gut. A feeling that goes unnamed purely because with a name, that feeling gains all power. And with power, that feeling can destroy you. It _will_ destroy you.

There is love in the world, just as equally as there is hate. There will be life, and forever will there be death. People will struggle through their lives, hoping to make the right decisions at every corner, hoping to buy their way into some unknown afterlife that will guarantee eternal happiness and peace. Everyone is vying for a single spot in worlds unknown. They don't even know where they're going, or what they'll find when they get there. But everyone needs to be going somewhere. It's part of the game; a part of life.

Someday, you will die. It will come as no surprise, or it will be the biggest shock of your once eternal life. You will burn and leave the world behind. You may arrive in Hell, or maybe some God above will take pity on your soul and accept you through a pair of pearly gates. No matter where you go once you've died, there will be no coming back. Death is permanent, and it is unforgiving.

You may be tested, punished, or forgiven for the travesties you committed during your time spent on Earth. You may be broken or healed. And yet, no matter what becomes of you, it will be your doing that caused it. No one has more control over your life than you do. You may not have control of when you die, or how it comes to you, but the way you live is entirely your responsibility. Only you will be the one to handle the consequences when the time comes.

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And then, it ends.

They've come back for you. They're taking you back, apologizing, sobbing, rejoicing. You can't make any sense of anything, but they don't seem to care or notice. All they care about is getting you home. Home. You keep hearing the word, but you don't really understand what it means. In there, you lost track of time. Cobb says it's been nearly three months. You don't really understand, but you feel as though that's a long time. Is it a long time? What is time, when you've lived in a place where it has no meaning?

Your body moves, but only because they push and tug you along, so excited to get you back. You don't understand, but you don't say so. You're going back. To where, you don't know, and you don't really care. Anywhere is somewhere, when you've been lost for so long. You hear the cocking of a gun, and rather than being frightened, you feel relieved. You're going back. That's what you want, isn't it?

"See you on the other side," Eames gibes, grin on his face as he pulls the trigger. You only smile in return, not knowing or remembering what waits for you. How long had it been? You've already forgotten. The shot rings through the street and you're only half aware of the hole in your head before everything goes dark.

You're back. Everything is gray. You hear sounds, voices. Footsteps coming closer. Joyful shouts, the opening of a champagne bottle as laughter rings out. A hand grabs your arm, you jump in alarm. You hear a voice, calming and gentle. No faces, no background, no vision. You start to panic. Gray, nothing more. No color. Memories filter their way into your mind, as you remember why the dreams are always better. Why it was so easy to believe in them.

"Rizzo?" Cobb's voice is concerned. She didn't need to see his face to read his emotions. She slowly began to understand what had happened, started to remember the job gone wrong, the shadow she had fallen into, the time she had chosen to forget. It became clearer as she remembered. How could she have been so stupid? The gray vision was answer enough.

More footsteps approached as the shouting quieted. Arthur and Eames? It must be. They would not have trusted any others for a job such as this. Extraction from limbo? No, it was an inside job done by those they could have full confidence in. A small shot of pride went through her as she realized what exactly the men had done to retrieve her. She could only imagine the process and the amount of planning that had gone into it.

"Rizzo, you alright, love?" She felt a rap to the head as Eames knocked her on the head. "Is everything still working in there?" She heard his shoes grind on the concrete as he turned, most likely towards the other two men. "Did we do something wrong, forget to extract her brain as well?"

"Lay off, would you?" Arthur snapped, forehead in a crease, she could only imagine. She'd seen it happen dozens of times in dreams, but never in any real reality. And she never would. "She's been through more than any of us can imagine. She needs space, and she needs rest. We should take her back to the hotel."

There was an amused snort as feet began to move around her. "Don't you think she's slept long enough?" Eames questioned. "Maybe she just needs a little push to get her started, yeah?"

If only he could understand.

"Leave her be, Eames," Cobb interjected. "Arthur is right; she needs to rest. Let's just take her back and deal with everything in the morning. We're all exhausted, we could all use some sleep. We'll have plenty of time tomorrow to figure things out."

"Whatever you say, boss," replied Eames. His footsteps echoed around the warehouse as he began to gather things. His mutterings were lost to the others.

Arthur set about doing the same thing, shooting worried glances to the unmoving woman sitting in the broken lawn chair, gray eyes staring at the ceiling. He used to wonder if she knew when her eyes were open or closed, but she'd told him that she did, only because of the feeling. There was no change in brightness or shading whether her eyes be opened or closed. It was always gray, just gray. He could only imagine what that would be like.

In dreams, she was capable of sight. It was the only reason she had ever agreed to work with them in the dream world, rather than stay at her desk where she could just as easily do the work they needed of her. She was their Author, the one who helped to create their dream realities. Without her, they would be at a loss as to their roles in the dreams, who they were, what they were doing, their aliases and fake lives if ever asked by a projection. She helped keep them alive.

It was a job she could do from anywhere, without ever meeting the team or men she helped create lives for. But because of the sight, she came. And because of the sight, she lost her way. Arthur was no stranger to addiction, or the signs that came with it. He understood the struggle Rizzo had been having with the dreams, even before they lost her. Now he was convinced. He needed to help her, if only to help keep himself and his team alive. She needed help, for all their sakes.

"You ready to go?" Arthur turned to find the others waiting for him, Rizzo leaning heavily against Eames as they stood near the door. Cobb gave him a frown before nodding towards the open door. "You ready?" he asked again. Nodding, Arthur picked up his duffel and walked to the door, following them all out.

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"How are you doing, Riz?" Eames asked as they sped down the highway, Cobb at the wheel. Arthur was focused on the dark scenery passing by the car, paying little attention to the conversation going on in the back seat. The Brit forger stared at the silent woman beside him, not at all sure how to continue. She had yet to say anything since returning to their world, and even he felt himself begin to worry. There was only so much they could do without her help. He decided to leave the woman in peace, settling into his seat before closing his eyes.

Rizzo heard his heavy sigh and relaxed. In the morning, the questions would continue. They would question everything, Arthur would run tests and diagnostics to ensure her health, Eames would be his normal bothersome self, and Cobb would coddle her. Such were their roles. Whether in dreams or reality, she could always trust their innate character that was solely them. She had never created a totem, against the warning that Arthur and Cobb had given her. She had little faith that a totem would be of any help to her when all she had to know was whether or not she could see the world before her.

No reality would let her see, only dreams granted her that. Limbo guaranteed her that. But she was no longer in a dream, or any kind of limbo. She was back in the world of gray, where she knew people by their footfalls, the sounds of their voices, and the touch of their hands. She could not see them, but only hear and feel them. This was the reality she had been born into; there was no doubt of that in her mind.

She rested her head on the cool car window. Summer had ended in her absence. She wondered if there was snow on the ground. She'd never know for sure, not here. Not in this reality. A single tear fell down her cheek. She was back.

Dreams, they never stay.

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**Reviews are always appreciated.  
Thanks ever so much, RJ **


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